


and they will burst into bloom

by SeasOfRhye



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Gen, SDR2 came for my soul, i'm still sad, ik the game's a bit old but major spoiler warning here anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasOfRhye/pseuds/SeasOfRhye
Summary: He could have loved, could have loved.—Oneshot, Komaeda-centric. SDR2 Chapter 5 and 6 spoilers.





	and they will burst into bloom

**Author's Note:**

> HHHHHHHHHHH so my friends finally dragged me into DR hell and I'm still dyin
> 
> Watched SDR2 awhile ago and wew lad it was. good stuff. I found Komaeda's arc to be particularly interesting and honestly kind of tragic...looking forward to watching the Hope/Despair arc when I'm free...
> 
> Enjoy!

In the little gray warehouse upon the final island, Nagito Komaeda waits to die.

It is dark here. Peaceful. He’s made sure of that—that no light will reach this place (not until it is time), and that the only sound is of the deep, heavy hum of the music player he gingerly placed up near the door. They’ll probably think that he chose that song because it would be loud enough to hide what’s coming—and yes, that’s true, but not entirely. To be honest, it’s also because he likes it. It fits.

The gashes on his legs don’t hurt as badly as they did before. It’s the knife embedded in his right hand, really, that’s giving him problems. Honestly, it’s not even the feeling of pain so much as the cold foreignness of steel within flesh that’s causing him discomfort. It feels strangely fluid, somehow, as if it could move freely across his palm like a bird in flight. A sharp gray and red bird that doesn’t belong. 

(And it is not the only one here that doesn’t.)

He manages something like a smile beneath the tape masked around his mouth. As if someone like him could come up with a more apt analogy than that. As if. 

(Just a little bit longer.)

Right. He’s found that, by shifting his limbs a little bit—as much as the ropes will allow, anyway—he can stave off the pain. Actually, he’s not really doing that so much as transferring it. One red hot ball of fire to the other. One by one by one by one. 

And now it’s his left arm’s turn. He makes sure to keep his fist tightly balled around the rope he’s holding as he—

(Oh?)

Silly him. He's moved too quickly, he thinks. That little shift'sbeen performed just a bit too hastily—just enough to aggravate the wound and soak his sleeve in fresh tendrils of blood. He emits an involuntary gasp of pain, thankfully muffled by the tape. Yes, it really was smart of him to wear it.

(And, if he could have, he would have laughed.)

Even so, he’s managed to keep his grip on that rope. That’s good. If he hadn’t been able to, it would have been quite inconvenient. But it’s okay. He’s got it, he’s still got the rope, so his plan hasn’t failed yet. It’s fine.

(It’s all okay, it’s all okay.)

He takes a deep, slow breath, waiting patiently for the pain to ebb—and suddenly, the spear dangling above him seems to come into sharp focus. He wonders what that sort of pain—the pain of shiny gray metal, slimmer and more vicious than any knife—would feel like, since he won’t be feeling it himself. Or maybe he will? He isn’t sure how quickly the poison she’ll throw is going to act, although he assumes it’ll take effect quickly. But maybe he’ll lose his grip on the rope just before he dies? If that’s the case, then yes, he might be able to feel that sleek serrated gray pierce him through for just a moment—

(He is alone.)

Hmm. Well, that’s an odd thought. Of course he’s alone—that’s how it’s supposed to be. Besides, he won’t be alone for long. He imagines that the others have found the messages he’s recorded by now, on that laptop propped up atop the conveyor belt, and so they should be heading here soon. Ha, honestly. If there’s one unfortunate thing about this, it’s the fact that he won’t get to know how they reacted to the carload of firecrackers that they thought would be their doom.

(Even so.)

Even so? What’s that supposed to mean, he wonders—

Oh. Right.

Right. For some reason, his mind is still fixated on that single thought. Maybe it’s because he’s here now and so there’s no need to meticulously review this all in his head again, but by some annoying twist of fate, his eyes are transfixed on the black ceiling, on the cold gray head of the spear jutting out, of the distant buzz of orchestral chanting, and he is alone, alone, alone.

(Oh, wait. Maybe that’s it.)

It’s his luck, isn’t it? Of course. That makes sense. Perfect sense, actually. In exchange for the mercy he’s granting them all, his own mind is deciding to pester him for a bit. Well, fine. He’s used to it. He can deal with it for a little longer. Especially because—

Oh, they’ve arrived.

Well, not quite yet. He just swears that he heard something thud against the door. Probably Owari. It’s good to know that she’s acting just he expected of her. Right, right.

(Thank you all.) 

His nostrils flare as if in anticipation, and somehow, that spear seems to grow even sharper.

(Thank you, thank you.)

If only he could thank them, hmm? That would be nice. He mentally adds that to his little list of little regrets. Thank you for living up to my faith in you. Thank you for coming here to die with me. Because maybe you’ve realized it too, haven’t you? Or maybe you haven’t, but it’s okay. You don’t need to, because I know, I know what we are, and the fact that we shouldn’t exist, don’t deserve to, isn’t really something you need to be upset about as long as you just accept that fact and simply lie down to die in that courtroom, because who knows?—maybe I’ll be watching over you then, waiting for you to come back to me, because I’ve saved you, don’t you realize? Haha! Isn’t it funny? How, in the end, even worthless trash like me could still love you enough to realize that? That’s right. It’s okay, you know. I still love you.

The door thuds again, the panels propped against it giving way this time, and he hears them falling, the flames igniting, the startled shouts, and he closes his eyes and thinks the same words he said two days ago: no, I’m not crazy; the thing that’s crazy here is—

Oh? They just threw something, didn’t they? They did. Excellent. It won’t be long now. 

(Hey. Open your eyes.)

And he does, as if to meet what’s coming for him with a twinkle in his eyes, the eyes that could have loved, could have hated, maybe, he’s not really sure anymore, but what he’s reasonably sure of is the success rate of his plan, meticulously crafted, painstakingly executed, and he entertains himself with the thought of this noble sacrifice, the statues they’ll erect in his name, the hymns they’ll dedicate to him, as if he is some sort of messiah and not just a broken boy with a knife in his hand and a spear in his stomach. 

(Sorry.)

And the poison must have reached him at this point, because he can feel his mind going (but wasn’t it always?), and he can’t really quite figure out who that odd thought is going out to, but maybe it’s someone he’s met before, in a world where cherry blossoms are more beautiful alive than dead, and he could have loved, he could have loved.

The invisible cloud of fate overtakes him then, and he prepares to die before even realizing it.

(But maybe, he ponders, in his final moments, he was always waiting to die, from the very beginning, ever since—)

**Author's Note:**

> ...okay honestly tho if I was this emo over SDR2 what's gonna happen with v3 lmao I've heard it dials everything up to 11
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
